The Killing Game

​Chapter One

​The hypnotic lullaby of the limousine’s engine numbed his mind as he sat quietly with her in the shadowy backseat. Misery crushed his chest, and his mind echoed bitter sentiments, as he thought, “It’s like a tomb in here.”

The distant sound of a police siren forced him to snap to, and his eyes shifted from his focused stare at the black-tinted slide to the city lights passing outside his window. Reflecting for a moment on the city, he scanned the pedestrians out walking that blustery autumn evening. He imagined they had uncomplicated lives. They had not dug their own graves yet, or had they?

She watched him and was curious about what disturbed him. Her eyes moved along his perfect profile, while in her mind, her fingers moved along his strong brow to the tip of his softly chiseled nose. The streetlights reflected in his eyes, and she saw the slight green glow in the warm hazel brown she knew as safety. Feeling his distress increase, she looked away.

He wondered if she noticed his strange behavior, and when her thigh pressed against his, he knew she did. Dare he look at her and allow her to see the menace lingering in his eyes? Pushing the feeling away, he looked at her lap, then down her long, silk-covered legs as she slipped off her shoe and moved her foot to his.

With a feather-light touch, the tips of her toes stroked his ankle and moved up his shin. He watched her movement as if it were not happening to him. When she moved her lips near his neck, he felt her warm breath on his skin. She looked up at him, admiring his lips; their sensuousness enticed her. Then he felt her gently kiss the side of his chin, and his heart skipped a beat, but he held back. Noticing his hesitation, she paused, then sat straight, moved her leg away, and slid her foot back into her shoe.

The traffic was stop-and-go; however, when the limousine stopped at Columbus Circle, the lights immediately changed to green, and they were moving again. She believed they were on their way to a late dinner after having just left the opera. That was what he had told her, yet she would rather have been home making love with him. Central Park had restricted traffic until morning, yet their limousine moved swiftly past the barricades and quickly disappeared into the shadows of the park drive. For what was about to happen, he wanted no spectators. In his mind, a clock ticked away these last moments with her. He slid his arm around her and pulled her head to his shoulder. Again, he meditated on tormenting thoughts, his mind lost in another world.

The tragic final aria from Mozart’s Don Giovanni plagued his immediate thoughts. Its lyrics and deathly undertones echoed at a maddening pace as the opera built to a climax. Inexhaustibly, his soul burned just as Don Giovanni’s. His guilt towered over him like the statue of the dead commander, condemning him to the everlasting flames of hell for his lack of remorse; however, unlike Don Giovanni, he had been repentant from the beginning. Why he had chosen this opera, this evening, he could not remember. He felt like Mozart’s stupid character: the seducer, the rogue, the pompous ass, the idiot Don Giovanni.

“Such a foolish man, squandering life and love,” he thought, but he knew he was no different as he fought to redirect his thoughts to the present. Holding perfect and true love in his arm, he felt wicked and lost in a living hell. Holding her closer, he reflected on the future, their future. Would there be one for them once the car stopped moving?

As always, she was tranquilizing and seductive. Her loving nature was his only solace as he pondered what the Bureau expected from her. She knew nothing about Vincent Luca or illegal sports gambling, but that theme was the subject of her latest novel. Having gathered her facts during a trip to Las Vegas, she had not done anything illegal, and even chose to do her research where gambling was authorized.

When he had informally noted her innocence in his reports, he knew the Bureau did not believe him. They never believed anyone. His persistence in prolonging his investigation of her by not conclusively reporting her lack of involvement, coupled with his general evasiveness, had convinced the Bureau that there was more behind her current novel than honest curiosity. He knew the reason for his inaction was his fear of losing her, but now losing her was staring him in the face. The decisive moment was here and, as in the past, he still did not know how to tell her who he actually was.

“Ives, what’s wrong? You’re so quiet. You didn’t enjoy yourself this evening, did you?” she asked as her soft voice broke his stressed meditation. Pausing briefly, she looked at him. “We should have done something else, or better, we should have stayed home.”

He sighed and looked at her. Her concern produced a knotted pang of regret in his stomach. “I’m alright, just thinking about work,” he answered and expelled another sigh.

The softness of his faint Eastern European accent briefly caused her to hold her breath. Memorizing the preciousness of that moment, she gazed into his eyes; to her, every minute with him was irreplaceable. He attempted to soothe her with his tone, but she knew he veiled his thoughts behind its seductiveness.

He gently pulled her head back to relax on his shoulder. He kissed her hair and rested his cheek lightly against it. Trying to distract him from his troubled thoughts, she moved her right hand slowly along the inside of his thigh as her left hand stroked his cleanly shaven face.

Enjoying the sensation of her touch, he smiled and breathed more easily; he had not lost her yet. He closed his eyes and continued thinking about all he was allowing to happen. Then his smile dissolved, and his mind stumbled backward. “How could I have done this to her?” he asked himself.

She did not suspect anything. She was oblivious to the circumstances he had created. It was his fault that she had met Luca. If he had not consented, there would have been no connection between them.

Still, Washington requested Ives to have Allina meet Luca, and he reluctantly agreed. He did not tell them that she knew nothing of Luca or his organization. All he told them was that he was still investigating the situation—his reason for his excessive time spent with her. He imagined Washington’s curiosity with Allina would end in a few weeks, just as their curiosity with Luca’s other women had. However, it did not end, and now her life was a bargaining chip on the table within the Bureau’s reach.

To meet Allina, he set himself up as a publisher in Manhattan. As the owner of Andrich Publishing, he published her novel, The Blood Negotiators. He had no intention to use that company for his lurid involvement with Luca, regardless that the Bureau recommended it.

The only time Luca had contact with Ives’ company was the day he walked in the front door and met Allina, a day Ives would always regret. Besides this, his Bureau connection to Luca was that he had infiltrated Luca’s world to become his main moneyman; money laundering and investments were the nature of their relationship.

Colleagues introduced him to Luca as the ultimate hotshot in the investment world, renowned for protecting their assets and spinning incredible deals of which Luca could only dream. After seeing him in action, Luca asked him to invest his money, as well. Luca adored money gained by any means, but especially via his illegal sports gambling racket.

If Luca had not come to Ives’ office while Allina was there signing contracts, she would never have met him. It was not Ives’ plan to grant Luca the pleasure of meeting her. Since they were first together eight months earlier, he had kept her away from Luca. However, once Luca met her, it created another dragon he had to slay.

The Bureau saw it differently, as they always did, and routinely ignored his strategies. He saw no reason to try to convince them of the facts this time: a grand mistake, considering the Bureau had infiltrated Luca’s organization two years past, but having not taken Ives’ advice, they had not produced conclusive evidence against Luca. Ives’ straightforward plan could have ended the entire case within six months, but Washington never listened—they always knew best.

“What a mess,” he thought. Opening his eyes, he sighed again.

She removed her gloves and tossed them aside. Turning on the seat, she leaned across his lap and looked into his eyes, wondering what bothered him; she had never seen him this upset.

Smiling seductively, she tried to distract him from whatever it was, as her fingertips delicately teased his cheek, then moved up to his temple and through his silky hair. Her caressing fingertips were one of the many luxuries she pleasured him with on a list too long to recite. When she touched him, she felt his apprehension and suffered with him; however, she had no clue to the cause.

He could not help admiring her in the dimmed streetlight filtering through the blackened windows. Pulling her close, he kissed her, closing, then opening his eyes as he felt her right arm move around him.

What was it about this woman that controlled him? The way he felt, he could betray everything. He could leave all he knew and run away with her. To hell with the investigation, the Bureau would drag it out forever. To hell with the Bureau, he did not need them. To hell with Luca, let him cheat as many people as he wanted. Who cared at this point? Allina was his life, and he wanted nothing more than to be with her, to make love to her; his passion for her went beyond words, as he now spoke a language only she understood.

Leaving the vulgar world behind, his actions bore out his thoughts as he laid her back against the seat, effortlessly maneuvered himself on top of her, and kissed her devotedly. As he began to lower the zipper of her dress, he felt the car slow to a stop and so he zipped her back up.

The chauffeur buzzed the back telephone, which he ignored until it buzzed again. Maddened by the interruption, he pushed back a side panel and tore the phone from its holder.

“Not now! Drive!” he insisted, then he slammed the telephone back on the hook.

Without bothering to close the panel, he felt the car start to move again, and he sighed as he continued his pursuit of her love. No time remained for romantic words or prolonged actions. He needed to make love to her before his agents stopped the car and took her away from him for their mock questioning.

Why he ever agreed to these tactics, he did not know. He did not know when he would touch her again, or if she would let him, once she found out the truth. He longed to tell her what was going to happen, but he could not. His position’s responsibility immersed him in the case’s confusion, and he could not find the words to make sense of it all. Making love to her was all that mattered now, all that made sense to him anymore, all that was real.

He wanted one last reckless moment as that publisher from Manhattan whom she loved. He wanted to love her as Ives Andrich, the man she believed she had coincidentally met on a flight from Phoenix. He wanted to love her as the man he wished he was.

He paid scant attention to what was going on around them while he subconsciously listened to the sounds of the car, hoping it would not stop just then, not while they were like that. Not when he was making love to her for what could be the last time. Then, as if from miles away, he heard her calling him, seeking his attention.

“Ives? What’s wrong? Whatever it is, it will work out. Don’t worry, just live for now,” she whispered, smiled, and added, “I love you, Ives. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. If you trust nothing else, trust that.”

He stared directly into her eyes as her words rang mockingly inside his head, and he believed the damage from that moment on would be irreparable. He could not imagine seeing her looking at him like that again, nor would he hear her say she loved him again.

She called him with her movements, but he heard vehicles surround the limousine as it slowed to a stop. He sat up and looked out the back window. Anger was his outstanding emotion, because they had given them no time alone. And now, the situation he dreaded became a reality.

“Sit up, something’s going on,” he said.

When he looked at her, she saw distress in his expression. He pulled her up, sat back against the seat, and adjusted his clothing. Just then, the door jerked open, and pistols pointed at them as a suited man directed them to exit.

“This is the FBI. Please step out of the car.”

Ives did as they asked, then helped her out as the men surrounding the vehicle stared at her. Panicking, she looked at him but said nothing. When he tried to hold her to protect her, agents separated them immediately, and it took all his resolve to play out the absurdity of the moment.

Nevertheless, he was the author of this scene, so he joined their theatrics as they forced him face down on the car and cuffed his hands behind his back. They pulled his chauffeur from the front seat and handcuffed him, too. Wearing an expression that said, “Don’t say a word,” Ives turned to look at him. “Don’t worry, Mally, I’ll get you out,” Ives said, as his agents took Mally away in an unmarked car. “Imbecile,” Ives said under his breath as he watched the car disappear, then thought, “One down, too many to go.”

Ives had the authority to stop the entire show, but he did nothing. Stopping everything now would endanger Allina, and he suspected at least two Bureau leaks to Luca existed, although he was only sure about Mally.

Special Agent Timothy Mally was on everyone’s payroll: the Bureau’s, Ives’, and Luca’s. Ives had known about Mally since the beginning. By the time the Bureau transferred Mally from California, Ives had already infiltrated Luca’s organization, so it was natural when Ives hired Mally as his chauffeur.

In this position, Ives delicately revealed to him that he laundered money for Luca, a fact that did not make it into any of Mally’s reports. Still, he had no idea who Ives really was. Ives kept him in the field, allowing him to meet with no one but Walzinski, and then only at predetermined locations set up by Ives. The only Bureau location Mally had seen was the Staten Island Field Office.

While in New York, he was ordered to stay clear of all field offices in case Luca had him followed, and he obeyed this order because deep cover was a turn-on for him. In being a turncoat, Mally was also paid by Luca for passing along false information to Walzinski on Luca’s behalf.

The Bureau considered Mally a half-wit, so his only task was to keep his eyes open for any developments in situations on which they had briefed him. Contrary to his duty, the extent of his reporting resembled an on-call voyeur rather than a Special Agent. He did not report the information Ives purposely leaked. Actually, Mally reported almost nothing except details of the countless women Ives was with, and speculations about what happened with these women in the back of the limousine. If anyone listened to Mally’s reports, the listener would label Ives a Lothario.

When Allina became involved in the case, that list of women ended. Ives then enlisted one of his other agents as chauffeur and only used Mally on rare occasions, such as that evening, or for business that did not involve Allina. Mally did not even know her name because that evening Ives did not call her by any name except Darling. Nevertheless, Ives’ presumed sexual exploits never failed to appear in all of Mally’s reports.

Mally’s excessive gambling losses at casinos in Reno placed him first in line for this case. Due to these losses, Mally’s foot was in the door for potential payback to Luca’s boss in Reno, Frank Bruttsi, making it an easy setup on all sides. For Mally, the New York position was a promotion, and he accepted it immediately when he heard a generous salary increase awaited him.

“More cash for Mally to wager with,” Ives had imagined.

Mally’s lifestyle continuously played both sides of the coin, which made him flawlessly suited to this case. He worked for Luca, informing him about what the local authorities knew of his business. He worked for the Bureau as an undercover agent on the Luca case, which meant he thought he was spying on Ives.

In Mally’s view, it was triple pay, and all for driving a car and being a natural-born traitor. Since the Bureau did not know exactly how much Mally knew, this false arrest was intended to protect Ives’ identity with Luca, or so the Bureau said, but Ives knew differently.

Because of the Bureau’s ineffectiveness, the Luca case was at a standstill for more than a year. To them, Allina was a welcome jump-start to closure of the case, yet the Bureau was ignorant of the nature of the beast with which they dealt. Luca was a complex and volatile man. With him, anything could happen, and it usually did. Ives had tried to plan as much of that evening as possible, only to witness his failure to plan how his agents were to handle Allina. He presumed they would know not to treat her like a criminal. However, despite his thoughts, she stood handcuffed fifty feet away, where an agent named Fogherty had pulled her toward an unmarked car.

Then it happened. The camel’s back finally broke. Ives’ self-restraint snapped as he looked at Walzinski, but his words did not describe his true thoughts.

“Why handcuffs? Allina’s not a criminal. She’s not going to try to escape or attack anyone.”

“Ives?” she called. She panicked at their separation as she stood next to Fogherty, who yelled at her. Confused, she fought her emotions while looking back at Ives. Then Fogherty placed his hand on her forehead, forced her backward inside the rear seat of the car, got in after, and slammed the door.

“Everything will be alright. Don’t worry,” Ives said loudly to her.

A swell of guilt overwhelmed him for acting out his part in this sick pursuit of an innocent woman. They could have called her in, and she would have gone. They did not have to pretend to arrest her and try to frighten her.

“To hell with this!” Ives muttered under his breath.

Walzinski heard him and saw his expression. It was obvious that he was going to blow his cover. Immediately, Walzinski motioned for the car she was in to leave.

Wearing a disgusted sneer, Ives approached one of his agents who turned around and stepped back. “Hey! Hey! Yeah, you! Take these cuffs off me!” he ordered. Seeing Ives’ anger, the agent moved further away. “Get these off me now!” Ives insisted.

The thick, grumbling sound of a car’s engine starting caught Ives’ attention, and he froze and looked in its direction. It was the car with Allina, and he saw her looking at him through the back window. Then, in the blink of an eye, it tore down the street leaving a flurry of leaves and exhaust rings trailing behind—then she was gone. Since the day they met in January, nothing had separated them, but now the Bureau had pulled her away, and it gnawed at him.

“I said not until eleven-thirty! Don’t you have any compassion?” he said. Closing his eyes, he shook his head as his shoulders slumped.

Walzinski grinned and unlocked the handcuffs. Ives rubbed his wrists and glared at the men around him as they walked toward another car. They had not seen him angry before, and the further away from him they were, the safer they felt.

“Couldn’t you have waited fifteen minutes? You can’t give a man any privacy. Why did Fogherty go with her? If he touches her, it will be the last thing he does! And you can write that in your damned report!”

Walzinski flipped the cover to his report book closed. Irate over the situation, Ives retreated into the back of the limousine and retrieved Allina’s purse. Spotting her gloves on the floor, he picked them up. Holding them to his face, he closed his eyes and inhaled her essence. Expelling a deep breath, he opened his eyes and stepped out from the back seat.

Walzinski waited for him, watching him carefully. Seeing the confusion in Ives’ expression, and the slightly lowered posture of his usually confident stance, Walzinski tried to reassure him that Fogherty would not harm Allina.

“Sure, Fogherty’s a schmuck, but he’s also an agent. He knows the rules, and what’s better is he knows your rules. He won’t touch her unless he wants trouble, which I doubt. He’s not bold enough.”

“Right! He knows my rules well enough to know how to break them. It wouldn’t be the first time. He already has one foot out the door.” Shaking his head, Ives walked away from Walzinski. Agitated, he stopped and turned around. “This had better not take long. She doesn’t know anything. The only time she was around Luca was when she met him at my office. She didn’t know him before, and she doesn’t want to know him now.”

“And that was reflected in your reports to DC?” Walzinski asked as a subtle reminder of Ives’ error in judgment.

Again, he shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. His thoughts raced. He wondered what she was feeling just then. He imagined she was terrified: wondering what was going on, wondering where he was, wondering if he was in trouble.

“This is out of control. You didn’t need to mistreat her. That wasn’t my order. They could have asked her to come in, and she would have. This charade is vulgar, and all because of an incompetent chauffeur. I should shoot Mally and put him out of his misery like a rabid animal. Luca would never question me.”

“Luca may not question you, but Washington would,” Walzinski answered in his adopted New York accent, which was slightly comical, unlike his statement.

Ives was silent, although the enraged glow in his eyes spoke for him. His defiant disposition told Walzinski that seeing Washington’s big boys out of their jobs would be easier than tolerating another minute of their nonsense. “I know what you’re thinking, but we both know you can’t do that.”

Noticing Ives clenching his fist, Walzinski empathized with his overwhelming urge to strike something to relieve his anger. Walzinski understood and tried to rationalize the situation.

“Washington has the power. They make the rules, and it’s up to the rest of us to find the loopholes.”

“Bureaucrats! They haven’t the slightest idea what goes on in this country, the domestic conflicts they overlook while playing their international war games.” He shook his head. “Serious housecleaning is in order there.”

“No time now to kindle the fire for that witch hunt,” Walzinski stated, although his tone praised Ives’ comment. Ives stared at him. He knew Walzinski had no idea how far he would go to be with Allina. Still, his demeanor presented a clue, as he commented, “Don’t be fooled by the hyena’s smile.”

Walzinski sighed, still not realizing the extent of Ives’ outrage. “Jeez, I’m sorry if we interrupted you. How are we supposed to know what you’re doing in the back of your limousine? I mean, are you confessing to Mally’s reports about you and your harem?”

Ives expelled a breathy laugh and looked away.

Walzinski shook his head and smiled. Already knowing the answer, he walked toward Ives while he mumbled, “You always get all the good jobs and all the women to seduce.”

Ives stood looking up at the night sky as he remembered how she felt in his arms, the touch of her lips as she gave herself to him. And what did he do? He betrayed her. How did he thank her? He wrote her death sentence. Now the Bureau had her and they would not let go until they got something from her. What they expected, he could only imagine.

“How will I make her understand?” he thought. Numb from it all, Ives stood paralyzed and lost in his inner turmoil. Walzinski tapped his arm with the back of his hand. “It’ll be okay. You love her, and it’s obvious she loves you, but we can’t do anything about that now except keep it a secret. You know, once Washington sinks their teeth into something, they don’t let go. We have our orders, and we have to follow them, or we can’t help her.”

Ives stared at the limousine. Just moments ago, he was in there with her, and now, every passing minute widened the chasm between them. He then turned around and walked toward an unmarked car, leaving Walzinski standing alone.

Walzinski approached Ives where he stood staring at the ground. Ives knew he was right, yet when Walzinski pulled his arm, he did not budge. “Why did you get involved with her?” Walzinski asked. “Why did you have to investigate her as a suspect? You could have had her without being her field agent.”

“What I did, another agent would have tried to do. I fell in love with her the first time I saw her photograph. You knew I would, so did William.” He looked back at the limousine, and his tone strengthened. “Would you want another man touching the woman you love?”

Walzinski motioned to an agent to get into the driver’s seat of the limousine. Then he motioned the remaining agents to drive the last available cars, leaving no choice but for Ives to take him to the JFK Field Office in the limousine.

Once the agents had left, he tried again to move Ives. “Tell me about Allina. Make me understand. Come on, we’re wasting time.”

Special Agent Alan Walzinski, Assistant Director of the New York Division, was fifty-two and a Bureau veteran, having been with them twenty-four years. He stood six-feet-one-inch tall with a muscular build, but most of Ives’ agents were tall—a secret condition of his squadrons intended to promote a menacing appearance when they interrogated suspects. Married at twenty-three, Walzinski had three sons and, at times, treated Ives as if he were his fourth, despite Ives being his superior.

He would often say, “Ives, you’re a wildcat. When are you going to settle down?” And he always received the same answer, “Perhaps when I go bald like you. Perhaps then I’ll be content to marry.”

Walzinski was a kind man and was extremely bald, and Ives was the only one he would allow to tease him about it. Deep down, Ives trusted Walzinski and tried to believe him when he said everything was going to be okay.

Ives sighed and walked with Walzinski to the limousine. He climbed inside and sat with his eyes closed, breathing deeply. The smell of her perfume lingered, and passionate vibrations coursed through him, whisking him back in time to before his agents opened the door and tore her from him.

He thought back to holding her and loving her, back to her clinging to him—their last time together. All he could hear were her words before those doors opened: “I love you, Ives. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. If you trust nothing else, trust that.” He trusted that more than he trusted anything in his life. He opened his eyes to find Walzinski sitting next to him, looking apprehensively at him.

“What were you two doing back here anyway?” Walzinski asked with a knowing lilt to his voice. Ives only stared at him. “Okay, I won’t ask. Just pretend I didn’t say anything,” Walzinski commented, but grinned, knowing the answer.

“What’s wrong with men? Have they no respect for women? Why do people always want to know about my private relations as if I were Don Juan?”

He briefly thought about Don Giovanni, and his sexual exploits with women, but he was not like either of those men. He smiled at Walzinski, who stared at him, still grinning.

“What would you be doing with Allina, especially if she loved you? Wouldn’t you seize every opportunity to love her back?” Ives shook his head. “No imagination, Al. What happened to you? Did your libido disappear with your hair?”

“Ouch! We’ve been friends a long time, so I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Walzinski smirked then shrugged. “Besides, bald men are, you know, virile. Didn’t you know that?”

“Passion has nothing to do with hair. It has to do with what you feel,” he said. “She taught me that.”

Ives looked out the window while tapping his fingers on the car door. Not wanting to tell Ives the absolute truth just then, Walzinski bent it until the time was better.

“It’ll all be fine. They just want some questions answered. Don’t worry; it may be over when we get there. She doesn’t need to know you’re an agent yet, unless you choose to tell her now, and, well . . . that wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“How do I tell her that? Oh, by the way, Darling, I’m the Special Agent in Charge and Chief Agent of the Eastern Division of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Your being arrested and manhandled tonight, I set it up,” he said, directing his sarcasm toward himself, not Walzinski.

“It’ll be okay. You’ll see,” Walzinski said.

“I should have told her when we first met. If I had been as honest with her as she’s been with me, this wouldn’t be happening. If only I had just told her who I was and what I wanted to know.”

Then, pretending he was sitting next to her, Ives acted out what he felt he should have done, as he said, “Hi, I’m Ives Andrich. I work for the FBI, and I’d like to ask you a couple of questions. First, do you know Vincent Luca?”

Turning his face toward the blackened slide, he impersonated Allina’s response in a delicately angelic voice, “Who?” He turned back to face Walzinski. “So you never heard of him? How wonderful! Second question, would you marry me?”

Ives laughed at himself and sat back against the seat. He paused, reflecting on what he and Allina shared. Walzinski wanted to say something to ease Ives’ tension, but exactly what, he could not figure out.

“Perhaps she would never have been with me. Despite it all, I think she would have told me everything and still loved me. She has the right to know the truth. She has the right to know I could be killed at any time, and that means my fate is her fate. I’ve been playing a game with her life. She deserved the right to choose to be with me, and I took that right away from her.”​ Walzinski knew there was nothing he could say, and felt Ives’ solitude. Ungodly silence filled the car as Ives’ stare melted into the slide. There again was the hypnotic lullaby, numbing him once more as his mind slowly journeyed back to the day he first saw her photograph.